


What The Water Gave Me

by recordmachined



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirates, M/M, Romance, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5102000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recordmachined/pseuds/recordmachined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wanted excitement and adventure and found it in the form of a pirate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on Daphne du Maurier's fantastic novel Frenchman's Creek. It's one of my favourites and it was just begging to be written as a fic. Title taken from Florence and The Machine's song of the same name.

_Prologue_  
  
The people of Teignmouth rarely ventured south on the River Teign, save for a few sailors who, although reluctantly, found shelter there when the winds blew and the shinning waters became troubled, and crashed upon the sandy shores, driving them further in-shore from their course upstream and along the county coast. They found the place lonely and a little frightening, because of the deafening silence, and when the wind was fair again, they were glad to set sail, making their way back towards town. Rough fields and cliffs surrounded the river with no buildings or houses anywhere near it. There were a few cottages scattered nearby, but the river itself remained secluded, thick trees crowding the banks and darkening the vicinity with their shroud.  
  
The few dim-witted cottage folk hardly ventured towards the banks of the River Teign, in fear of getting lost amongst the dense woods. The river remained unexplored, untouched, solely belonging to the birds and the animals.  
  
As did the creek, situated south-west from the river, hidden amongst the trees that thickly crowded the water’s edge. The leaves rustled in the wind, like whispers along the shallows of the river. Shadows of trees fell on the waters, creating a looming apparition of a ship secretly anchored in the creek, with tall masts pointing towards the skies.  
  
A strange mystery surrounded the place since the creek was a pace of refuge and held a profound secret.  
  
~  
  
 _April 1820_  
  
The midday sun was bright in the sky as the coach rattled through the narrow country pathway. The driver panted, clutching the reigns in one had and wiping the sweat off his brow with the other. Their journey had been a long one, from London to Devon County. They had been riding for several hours since leaving, and the driver was quite literally gasping for a drink of water.   
  
As if his silent request had been heard, the road broadened and he noticed a little town in the distance. Once they entered, the driver drew up outside a tavern. He swung himself to the ground and walked inside, quickly requesting water for himself and for the horses. He walked back towards the coach, stretching the sore muscles of his back.  
  
The window of the coach flung open, startling him and presently a face leant out, traces of sleep still evident in the eyelids.  
  
“Why have we stopped?” His passenger asked, gently rubbing his eyes with his fingers. His voice was curious.  
  
“The horses needed water, sir, and if I may admit, I needed a rest too,” the driver replied. “I apologize for the delay.”  
  
“Oh, not at all,” the other man assured. “There is no rush. Take all the time you need.”  
  
“Thank you,” the driver bowed and sat on the bench outside the tavern, happily accepting the water and bread that the barman offered. As he watched the horses drink, he noticed his passenger step out of the coach and wander towards the nearby woods.  
  
Matthew stood in front of what looked like an orchard of apple trees, deeply inhaling the rather refreshing country air. He hadn’t been very keen on taking this trip, and had often thought of turning around and heading back to London. But now, whilst he stood amongst the trees, breathing in the clear, crisp air as opposed to the sooty, industrial London atmosphere, he felt rather optimistic about this vacation.  
  
 _Christopher was right_ , he thought to himself with a smile.  
  
“What you need is a vacation, Matthew,” he recalled Christopher saying in a sharp, but affectionate tone, much like the man himself. “I have a house down in Devon County. Go stay there for a couple of weeks. It might do you well. It is somewhat annoying to see you brood.”  
  
The usually impulsive Matthew had had doubts regarding this journey. His careless nature had often gotten him into trouble. He had left his mundane job on an impulse, because he wanted to write, something that his father had been very unhappy to hear. But it wasn’t his father who was to blame for the senseless life they led. It wasn’t his mother’s fault either, who never stopped badgering him to get himself a wife and start a family.  
  
Matthew didn’t know who was at fault, if not himself.  
  
He had always wanted a different life, where no two days were the same and every day was an adventure. The chance of that desire being appeased was, however, close to none. The best he could do was to escape, escape from London, from his friends and family, and from himself and what he was becoming.  
  
He was no longer the Matthew whose sapphire eyes had once twinkled whilst his mind drew plans to leave the country and travel all over the world.  _That was five years ago_ , he argued with himself. He was twenty-eight now and he wasn’t the same man he used to be. But deep down, he knew that was a far cry from the truth.  
  
“Go to Teignmouth,” Christopher said with an understanding smile. “I will send word to the manor and the servants will be ready for you. You might finally end up writing something as well. Not much cop, this writer,” he added with a tease. Matthew refrained from sticking out a tongue in his direction like he had when they had been children.  
  
“I might just, once I’ve gotten away from this hellish life,” Matthew stated with a slightly callous tone.  
  
Christopher rolled his eyes. “Some people consider your life to be perfect.”  
  
“Shame,” Matthew shrugged in response, “I am not one of them.”  
  
“Why must you be so difficult?” Christopher said with a sigh whilst Matthew sneered at him. “But I wouldn’t change you for the world.”  
  
~  
  
As soon as they arrived, Matthew hopped off the coach and walked across the front driveway, regarding the manor while the driver busied himself with unloading his luggage. It stood well away from the road, hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the garden and the patio and ran along the four sides. Lush lawns and shrubs flanked either side of the driveway as Matthew made his way to the front porch.  
  
He fumbled with the latch that was rusted due to lack of use and pushed open the door. A musty scent lingered throughout the house, but there was no sign of any dust.  _Servants must have cleaned the place_ , he pondered while opening the windows to let the fresh air in. He turned around and jumped when he came face to face with a tall, thin man with beady jade eyes and a mop of rust coloured hair.  
  
“I am sorry, sir,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”  
  
“That’s quite all right,” Matthew exhaled, resting a hand over his chest. He held the man’s gaze and narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”  
  
“Peter, sir,” he answered, “the housekeeper.”  
  
“I was told William was the housekeeper,” Matthew said sharply, not missing the way Peter’s eyebrows rose in surprise for a fleeting moment. Matthew swore he noticed a tinge of amusement lurking behind those green eyes.  
  
“You were told correctly, sir,” he explained, his voice taking on a slight southern accent. “But William has fallen sick and I am to replace him. You may check with Mister Wolstenholme if you wish.” His tone was faintly challenging, almost as if he was lying and daring Matthew to catch his bluff.  
  
“I might,” Matthew raised an eyebrow in amusement and was vaguely intrigued by the housekeeper. He was odd, no doubt. But there was something else too, which Matthew couldn’t quite comprehend. He ran his fingers through his ebony hair as a casual mannerism and dismissed the housekeeper. “Open the windows on the first floor as well. Let’s get this smell out.”  
  
“Of course, sir,” Peter bowed slightly and set about to his task.  
  
Matthew watched him go, knowing well that Christopher wouldn’t know about Peter. He was hiding something and Matthew swore he would find out what it was.  
  
For the rest of the afternoon, Matthew wandered around the house, tracing his fingers over every piece of furniture and trinket in the manor. Eventually, he stepped out of the back door and into the backyard. The lawn was freshly trimmed and the flowers were just beginning to bloom, telltale signs of the impending spring clear in the way the petals shyly blossomed.  
  
Matthew stepped out of the back gate and gazed into the woods that stretched before him. Momentarily, he looked back at the manor and shrugged before walking into the woods. He meandered through the trees until he could see the River Teign, shinning golden under the afternoon sun. The river was still, but for a gentle breeze that ruffled its surface.  
  
Matthew walked closer towards the edge where the water was shallow, lazily hugging the shore. A smile came upon his lips and he quickly shed his boots and socks, and rolled up his trousers. He gingerly stepped into the cool water, wading in until he was ankle deep. His smile widened as the water rippled against his legs, his soles resting on the moist and slippery pebbles.  
  
He caught a glimpse of the town, a few fishing boats scattered across the coast. But he wasn’t very keen on going anywhere near the town. He was rather looking forward to explore the woods and come back to river again. After all, he had all the time in world.  
  
The sun was low in the horizon when Matthew made his way back to the manor. He let himself in through the back gate and latched it before entering the house. Peter had moved his luggage to the bedroom upstairs, so he went up the wooden stairs and into the bedroom to set about unpacking his belongings.  
  
Later that night, the sun had set and candles illuminated the house. Matthew sat alone at the table, eating his supper. Peter walked in, carrying a wine decanter and refilled Matthew’s glass.  
  
“Have you eaten, Peter?” Matthew asked, taking a sip of his wine.  
  
“I will, sir, after you have eaten.”  
  
Matthew chuckled to himself. He turned to face the housekeeper, resting his elbow on the table. “You know, you need not be formal with me. I never cared about courtly behaviour, and I don’t plan to start any time soon.”  
  
“That’s kind of you, sir. But doing so would be against what I’ve been taught.”  
  
Matthew scoffed and Peter couldn’t help the little smile that quirked on his lips. Mister Bellamy was different, he realized. A little spoiled, but not in the bad sense. He was independent and lived on his own terms, but Peter had seen the momentary frown that creased his brows. He was unhappy, and he had come here to find solace. He might even get it…  
  
“Tell me, Peter,” Matthew’s voice broke his thoughts. “Did you serve someone else before the Wolstenholmes?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Why did you leave?”  
  
Peter hesitated and Matthew noticed. “The man I served before is a traveller, sir. He no longer required my services since he was never at one place for long.”  
  
“That is rather exciting,” Matthew wondered aloud with a pang of jealousy.  
  
“Quite so,” agreed Peter. “He travelled as an escape from the normal life. Much like yourself, sir,” he ventured.  
  
Matthew looked surprised. “You think I have escaped?”  
  
Peter nodded. “Possibly, sir, from your life in London.”  
  
“That’s quite the deduction, Peter,” Matthew smiled genuinely and it was returned. “I would have loved to meet this master of yours.”  
  
“I’m sure he would have too. You seem to have much in common.”  
  
Following dinner, Matthew strolled into the study, hoping to begin his writing. But there was nothing particular in his mind that he wanted to put on paper. Instead, he sipped on a glass of wine and chose a book from the large bookcase. He was tempted to play the piano that sat in the adjacent room, but the hour was late.  
  
He wondered, as the book lay open on his lap, what he would have been doing if he were back in London. Probably sitting in a pub with his friends, drinking and flirting with any woman that happened to please the eye. He winced at the mere thought of it. He had long given up, trying to court a woman. Their perfume never aroused him unlike the musky, robust scent of a man.  
  
But Matthew wasn’t rueful. If anything, he was only burdened by need to carry this secret. Christopher had managed to pry the truth out of him. In spite of his initial wariness, he had accepted the situation and the weight on Matthew’s shoulders shrunk greatly.  
  
Matthew sighed and gazed around the room. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The unforeseen peacefulness caught Matthew by surprise. He wasn’t used to it. Oddly enough, he found himself liking it; his restless mind needed the calm of this place.  
  
As the clock ticked into the night, Matthew retreated to his bedroom. The house was silent, save for the nocturnal sounds coming from the woods. It was eerie, yet oddly comforting. Whilst Matthew slipped into his nightshirt, he wrinkled his nose, smelling a lingering smell of tobacco in the room.  _Christopher and his bloody pipe_ , he thought and grinned to himself. Before slipping under the covers, Matthew drew back the curtains, letting the pale moonlight flood into the bedroom. He slid under the covers and settled his head on the pillow with a yawn, his eyelids fluttering as he felt sleep creep over him.  
  
However, his nose wrinkled yet again as he sniffed, a sudden perfume tickling his nostrils. Curious as ever, he sat up, sniffing again as he wondered what was the sweet scent that mingled with the tobacco. It was familiar and smelled like spring. He turned over and noticed the bedside table from where it seemed to come from.   
  
With an intrigued frown, he pulled open the drawer and peeked inside to find small sprigs of lilacs. Along with it, he noticed, was a leather-bound diary. His frown deepened as he picked up the diary and some of the lilacs, which looked fresh.  
  
Perhaps Peter had left them inside.  _But why?_  
  
Deeply inhaling the crisp yet mellow scent of the lilacs, his attention drew towards the diary and he flipped through the pages. They were filled with drawings and texts that seemed to be poems, written in a neat, cursive script.  
  
Involuntarily, he brought the book to his face and deeply inhaled the yellowed pages. His eyes grew wide as a rich, musky scent that could only be masculine invaded his senses. An unexpected warmth pooled in his stomach. This wasn’t Christopher’s, nor was Peter’s, that much Matthew was sure of.  
  
 _Whose then?_  
  
With slightly shaky fingers, Matthew flipped to the first page where, in the same cursive script, someone had scribbled the initials ‘D.J.H.’


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight streaked through the open windows, spreading a warm glow throughout the bedroom. Matthew’s eyelids fluttered and he squinted when the rays delicately fell on his face. His eyes eventually opened, the blues looking brighter and clearer under the sun. He stretched and hummed contentedly, his toes curling under the blanket. He had one arm splayed across the pillow and the other curled around the open diary. He had fallen asleep while reading the poems under the light from a candle, which was completely burnt now. He couldn’t remember how long he had stayed awake reading. All he could remember were the words written on the pale yellow pages.

Matthew wasn’t unfamiliar with poetry. He had read a great deal of exceptional as well as mediocre poems. But none of those compared to what the diary possessed amongst its pages. The words came flooding back to Matthew as he sat up, his thumb tracing the ink on the parchment. They spoke of the sea, the forests and the birds. But unlike every other poem, the words were evocative and raw with passion. They held an intimacy that could have only been as a result of personal indulgence.

These weren’t just poems, Matthew realized, they were the events of someone’s life. And Matthew wanted nothing more than to know who this someone was.

Matthew left the diary and lilacs in the drawer, and dressed himself in a simple shirt and trousers before padding downstairs. The dining room was bright and smelt fresh since the windows had been opened wide. Peter was dusting through a bookcase when Matthew entered. Matthew’s first thought was to ask him about the diary, but he decided against it, because the last thing he wanted was to unnerve Peter. So he kept quiet, for something told him that the admission of his discovery this soon would be hasty and out of place.

“Good morning, sir,” Peter said, “I hope you had a pleasant sleep.”

“I did, thank you.”

“Should I set the table for your breakfast?”

“Yes, please,” Matthew replied and took a seat at the table.

Following breakfast, Matthew wandered through the back garden and eventually decided to take a walk through the woods. The air was cool and languid; the sound of leaves rustling and birds chirping echoed across the woods. He was, once more, tempted by the river and began walking towards it. Once he was close enough to the bank, he sat down on the rough grass whilst his gaze followed the river where it eventually met the sea. The water shone brilliantly under the morning sun, sparkling when the gentle waves collided. The sea itself was calm, an odd seagull flying above the horizon.

Matthew wondered if he could live this life every day. Perhaps it would be charming, but the spark would soon die out just like every other place.

A sudden breeze whipped across Matthew’s face in a whisper of protest. He inhaled deeply as a strange feeling came over him. In spite of his previous uncertainty, he felt an unlikely longing for this place, as if it were secretly asking him to stay, as if something were to occur that would completely catch him unawares.

He smiled to himself for no reason before unlacing his shoes and making his way towards the river once again. The water was cold against his feet, but he didn’t mind. Carefully, he stepped over the slippery pebbles and walked further until the water was nearly up to his knees. He looked towards the sea again, his eyes shining with a new hope.

Perhaps a life here wouldn’t be so bad after all.

_It may be even better if I had someone to live it with,_ his mind thought involuntarily.

~

So passed the first day, and the next and the one after that. Matthew even felt inspired enough to fill a few pages with his writing. He found himself writing about his stay in Teignmouth, about the river, the trees, the birds, much like the poems in the diary that still lay in the drawer of his bedroom, only being removed when the candles were lit and Matthew was safely tucked under the covers of his bed.

During the day, Matthew spent his time playing the piano, his fingers effortlessly dancing over the black and white keys. Music had always come naturally to him, but he had never been much of a composer. But this newfound peace of mind led him to play notes and tunes that solely came from within him, and a swell of happiness rose in his chest as he played, letting the music flow out of his fingers.

The rest of his time was spent in the garden either reading or writing or simply laying flat on the soft grass, listening to the sounds coming from the woods. One such afternoon, whilst he was lying on his back with his head pillowed on the grass, there was a sudden clatter of hoofs and presently, the bell rang. Moments later Peter’s voice called for him through the window.

“Mister Thorpe is here to see you, sir,” he said with a faint lilt of irritation in his voice.

Matthew cracked open his eyes. “Who?”

“He lives close to town and is acquainted with Mister Wolstensholme.”

Matthew sighed and reluctantly rose to his feet, making his way inside. Momentarily, he caught his reflection on the glass doors of the bookcase. His dark hair was dishevelled, his clothes were rumpled and his braces lay hanging on his sides rather than sitting on his shoulders. He was hardly presentable, but he remained unconcerned, for he was not in the mood to entertain any guests.

Matthew entered the living room where a short, chubby, well-dressed man with a pinched expression was seated on the sofa. When the man’s gaze fell on Matthew, he was quite obviously dismayed at his appearance, his stare lingering on Matthew’s bare feet.

“Good afternoon,” Matthew greeted, “I’m Matthew Bellamy.”

“William Thorpe,” the man said with a cautious smile as they shook hands. “I heard the house was being prepared for someone to stay, and thought Christopher had come down with his family.”

“I’m afraid he isn’t here,” Matthew told him. “I am a friend of his from London, and he has lent me the house for a few weeks.”

“I see,” said Mister Thorpe and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Do you know if he would be joining you eventually?”

“I am not certain,” Matthew frowned, studying Mister Thorpe’s expression. “Do you wish to send him a message?”

“Oh no, that wouldn’t be necessary,” the man waved his hand. “But it _would_ be helpful if you could convey the events of the past few weeks to him. We have had some troubles here, you see.”

“Oh? What sort of troubles?”

“There have been a series of thefts along the coast and docks,” Mister Thorpe explained. “A significant amount of goods and money have been pilfered from the harbour. We believe there is a pirate on the loose here in Teignmouth.”

Matthew’s eyes widened with interest. “A pirate?”

“Oh yes! We believe he is a rogue Englishman and is looting his own countrymen. He is said to be very intelligent and cunning. A bloody menace is what he is. The local police haven’t succeeded in catching him so far. Every time they come close, he slips away and vanishes with his ship. We have searched and searched, but it has all been in vain. The county council is hoping to take more drastic measures to stop this pirate, and since Christopher is a member of the council, his presence here would be greatly appreciated. This pirate is a dangerous man and we must be wary of him.”

“More than dangerous, it seems to me that he is too clever for you.” Matthew couldn’t help the smirk that settled on his lips. He could tell Mister Thorpe’s words were carefully rehearsed to gain his sympathy. But the effect it was having was quite the opposite.

“That is one way of putting it,” the other man defended with a slight scowl and Matthew had to bite back a chuckle.

“Well, I wish you luck in catching this pirate soon. And if there is anything I can do…”

“There is nothing much you can do, except stay vigilant,” said Mister Thorpe, standing up. “But do mention this to Christopher if you happen to write to him,” and with that he took his leave, much to Matthew’s relief.

Whilst Peter accompanied Mister Thorpe to the door, Matthew stretched himself out on the sofa and hoped that the gentleman wouldn’t come calling again. But he couldn’t help thinking about what the man had said. Pirates weren’t an uncommon entity, but from what little Matthew knew, they usually restricted themselves to the sea, plundering trading ships and whatnot. A pirate robbing the harbour from right under the noses of the so-called gentry was definitely surprising and rather adventurous.

Peter re-entered the living room, interrupting Matthew’s thoughts. “I am sorry, sir,” he began, “I know you wish to be alone, but this was unexpected. The gentleman refused to leave until he had an audience with you.”

“It’s quite all right, Peter,” Matthew assured. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again. I cannot be bothered with other people’s problems.”

Peter paused, silently comprehending Matthew’s words. “You are not disturbed by what you heard?” He asked casually, but Matthew didn’t miss the tinge of curiousness in his voice.

“No,” Matthew answered with a shrug. “Need I be? Has this pirate hurt or… killed anyone?”

Peter shook his head with a slight vehemence. “No, sir. There have been no reports of death or any other sort of violence.”

“Then I don’t see why I should be bothered. Besides, how dim-witted can these people be to let a ship full of pirates pass by without them noticing?”

Peter smiled at that, his eyes twinkling with the same amusement that Matthew had seen on the day he had arrived in Teignmouth. But it was gone instantly and Peter went about his usual chores, leaving Matthew pondering about him once more. There was something about him, almost as if he knew something that Matthew didn’t and Matthew could sense that he was going to find out soon enough.

Matthew spent the rest of his day wandering through the back garden and the woods whilst his mind sorted through the day’s events. It had been rather eventful with the sudden arrival of Mister Thorpe and his intriguing tale. Matthew made a mental note to write to Christopher later that evening. He returned to the house just as the sky was beginning to look pink and the sun was hovering over the horizon.

Whilst his dinner was being prepared, he sat down to write his letter to Christopher. After the usual pleasantries, he chose his words carefully when he mentioned his afternoon encounter and the pirate. The last thing he wanted was Christopher rushing down here along with his wife and children. He loved them dearly, of course, but he didn’t want to lose this newfound freedom and solitude. Once he was satisfied, he sealed the letter, ate his supper and was asleep the moment his head hit the pillows.

The curtains were wide open and the bedroom was bathed in the moonlight.  It was a little after two in the morning when the faint sound of a door being opened and closed, followed by soft footsteps beneath his window, woke Matthew from his slumber. Instantly alert, he rose from the bed and crept towards the window. He hid himself behind the curtains and surreptitiously peaked through the glass. The back garden was dark, shadowed by the house, but moonlight shone across the woods.

Matthew watched and waited, for he knew something was about to occur.

His intuition was proved right when a figure suddenly appeared from the shadows and swiftly ran from the back garden towards a belt of tress. Even from the distance, Matthew knew it was Peter, his lean form unmistakable even under the faint light of the moon. What amazed him further was when someone joined Peter; a man from what he could see.

Matthew held his breath, his eyes sparkling with excitement rather than fear as he watched this midnight rendezvous unfold before him. He saw Peter gesture his hands towards the house and drew back in the shadows in fear of being noticed. The pair continued talking, the stranger’s gaze occasionally flicking towards the house. Soon, both disappeared into the trees, leaving Matthew staring after them for a couple of minutes. When he was certain they weren’t going to return, Matthew retreated back to his bed, unable to fall asleep.

His suspicions about Peter had been true. The man was definitely hiding something, and Matthew knew the meeting was anything but an innocent gathering of two friends. If Peter was conspiring with that stranger, Matthew had to be vigilant. Perhaps he had been a fool to trust Peter. He was unlike any other housekeeper and would have been dismissed at once by someone else. But his manner had intrigued Matthew, and he was something out of the ordinary, which had amused him.

Hours later, Matthew eventually succumbed to sleep, resolving to solve this mystery once and for all.

~

“Peter, I’d like you to run an errand for me,” Matthew said as he was finishing his breakfast the following morning. “I have a letter that has to be posted, and I also have a list of things that need to be purchased.”

“You want me to go into town, sir?” Peter asked with a flicker of unease.

Matthew’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, please, if it’s not too troubling. I could go myself, but I’d like to stay indoors. I feel a little unwell today.”

“Of course, sir,” was all that the housekeeper said.

Later that morning, after Peter had left for town, Matthew shrugged into his jacket and slipped into the back garden with a triumphant smile. He made his way to the belt of trees where he had seen Peter the previous night, and noticed a set of footprints that led towards the forest. Without hesitation, he followed them, plunging deep within the woods. The river came into view, twisting through the woods as he walked upstream. He had lost sight of further footprints, but he kept walking further. The trees grew thicker around him and the surroundings were unusually quiet, sending a shiver down his spine.

He was well within the forest when the trees suddenly thinned and the river broadened. As he reached the bank, he realized the river had branched off and had opened into a creek, still and soundless, secluded among trees. The tide was low, the water ebbing and lazily hugging the shore. The creek twisted around a belt of trees and Matthew walked along the bank, fascinated by his discovery and momentarily forgetting his mission, for the place held a sort of hidden, untouched beauty.

As he approached the corner where the creek turned, his eyes widened and he stood stunned, for there stood a ship, shrouded by the trees and anchored in the still water. Once his initial astonishment was overcome, he inched closer with cautious steps, staying hidden behind the trees. He noticed the words _‘La Glorieuse’_ written in gold letters beneath the stern. There were three men slung over the side of the ship, chipping off the dirt and barnacles, and two men stood on the deck, inspecting their work. From the clothes they wore, Matthew could tell this wasn’t an ordinary trading ship.

One of the men started singing softly, and was joined by the others as Matthew tried catching the words. His mouth went dry when he realised they were singing a chantey, and for the first time fear gripped him.

He had stumbled upon the pirate’s hiding place and this was the pirate’s ship.

Matthew’s conscience screamed for him to run with this newly acquired knowledge. No wonder the pirate hadn’t been caught; he had the perfect hiding place. But a part of him didn’t want to share this discovery. He could creep back to the manor and go on living as if he had seen nothing. He didn’t care much about the county and the harbour; he would be going to back to London eventually. But his feet were anchored to the ground as he stood watching the folded sails of the ship flutter in the gentle wind.

Just as Matthew succeeded in calming his bewilderment and began drawing back into the woods, a figure stepped out from behind a tree. He tried to scream, but was cut off by the hand that covered his mouth, and then everything went black.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It was mid-afternoon when Matthew awoke again. He was unsure about how long he had been unconscious, but he was well aware of where he was - on the pirate’s ship, most likely captured. But, seeing as he had been lying on a bed in a large cabin and not shackled in the lower deck, perhaps he wasn’t a prisoner after all. That didn’t stop him from scolding himself for having been such a fool and allowing himself to be captured when he could have easily retreated amongst the trees and gone back to the manor.  
  
He sat up on the bed and let his gaze wander around the spacious cabin. It was unlike what he had come to expect. Sunlight streamed through large windows, falling on the exquisite wooden panelling that ran throughout the room. There was no filth, no smelly rum bottles and cutlasses strewn around. Instead, the cabin was clean with chairs and a table, scattered with charts. A large bookcase and several other shelves sat across the table and a few paintings hung on the wall.  
  
Matthew felt strangely comforted in this rather luxurious cabin. This wasn’t a dirty pirate’s ship at all. It belonged to someone who was cultured and tasteful.  
  
Brimming with curiosity, Matthew ventured to walk around the cabin. His eyes sparkled with fascination and intrigue, for he had never come across something quite like this. He walked up to the table and picked up a scroll, which he realised was a map with scribbles and markings added to it when the door to the cabin opened.  
  
“I see you have made yourself at home.”  
  
Startled, Matthew turned around, his gaze falling on a man leaning casually against the doorframe. He swallowed the moisture that suddenly gushed into his mouth at the sight of the man who looked nothing like a pirate.  
  
Finally trusting his voice, Matthew replied. “I don’t suppose you are expecting an apology.”  
  
The man laughed, a poised yet boyish laugh that made Matthew blush. Closing the door behind him, he walked closer. “Of course, not. Especially not from you.”  
  
“What are you trying to imply?”  
  
The man only smiled in response and slid into the nearest chair with his clear grey eyes still locked with Matthew’s. “Sit down, Matthew Bellamy,” he pointed to the chair opposite him. Wordlessly, Matthew complied. “Tell me, what brings you to my haven?”  
  
Matthew scowled. “I took a wrong turn during my walk and then I was coshed on the head by one of your men,” he said with surprising ease and mild contempt. “Your orders, I presume?”  
  
“My men have orders to seize anyone who ventures to the creek, but I do apologize on their behalf for being rough. You are not hurt, are you?”  
  
The touch of concern in his voice softened something in Matthew. “No, I am not.”  
  
“Good, so I will ask again, what brings you here? And don’t think about being modest again. Surely you have heard of me.”  
  
“Of course,” Matthew snorted, “I have been told you are a dangerous man, who is a rascal and is stealing from his own countrymen.”  
  
The pirate laughed again, running his fingers through his light hair that shone golden under the sun. “Is that what they are saying? The local gentry do tend to exaggerate everything.”  
  
“Is it not true then?” Matthew asked, his eyebrows arching with curiosity.  
  
“Oh, it is, but only relatively. I am no scoundrel and I am stealing from my countrymen merely as an amusement to see the pompous folk so very flustered. I do quite enjoy it.”  
  
Matthew laughed at that. “They could catch you, you know.”  
  
“Perhaps,” the pirate shrugged. “But don’t count on it.”  
  
“Don’t be presumptuous; that is a weakness and may act to their advantage.”  
  
“Is that a touch of concern I hear?”  
  
“What makes you think I am concerned?” Matthew retorted defensively, at which the man merely smirked.  
  
There was a soft knock on the door and presently, one of the pirate’s men came in with a tray of steaming hot food. It smelt delicious and suddenly, Matthew realized how hungry he was. The man proceeded to lay the table and waited for further orders, his gaze flicking towards Matthew. Matthew looked up and saw that both men were watching with amusement in their eyes. He flushed and turned his head away.  
  
“Fetch another plate, Tom,” said the pirate. “We cannot have our guests going hungry.” With a slight nod of his head, the man named Tom left.  
  
“Am I your guest then?” Matthew asked after a few moments of silence.  
  
“Would you rather be a prisoner?”  
  
“Heavens no!”  
  
“In that case, you are my guest and I have no desire to make a prisoner out of you.”  
  
Matthew didn’t know how to respond to that. Thankfully, Tom returned with another plate of food and set it in front of him. “Bon appetite,” he whispered with a small smile and Matthew found himself smiling back.  
  
They ate their meal in silence; the clatter of their forks and the gentle waves lapping at the sides of ship were the only sounds surrounding them. All the while, Matthew kept thinking how much like a dream this was. He ought to be screaming ‘bloody murder’ and report this man to the likes of Mister Thorpe. But Matthew found he had little desire to do that. Even though he had spent mere minutes with the pirate, he realised he would never be able to see the man locked up behind bars, even if he did deserve it.  
  
This pirate was now his secret, a secret that he would never be parted with.  
  
“Wine?” The pirate asked after they had finished, to which Matthew acquiesced. He fetched a bottle from a nearby cupboard and poured two glasses. Matthew accepted his glass and inhaled the scarlet liquid before taking a small sip.  
  
“This is expensive wine. I hope it isn’t stolen,” he teased.  
  
The pirate chuckled warmly. “No, I bought this while I was in France,” he replied. “It seems to me that you know a little something about wines then.”  
  
“If there is one thing I know best, it is to do with wines.”  
  
“I will keep that in mind then,” the man said. His gaze flicked towards the window as something outside caught his attention. “Come, look,” he said, walking to the window and Matthew joined his side, as they looked down into the water. A lone little egret stood on the rocks by the side of the creek, idly flapping its wings and basking in the afternoon sun. “He comes here often,” the pirate’s voice broke their momentary silence. “Beautiful, isn’t he?”  
  
Matthew hummed in agreement and smiled to himself at the absurdity of the situation. Here he was, admiring a little egret along with the pirate instead of being gagged and bound and thrown in some dark corner of the ship.  
  
“Why are you a pirate?” Matthew asked suddenly.  
  
“Why did you wander through the forest knowing that there is a pirate hiding somewhere?”  
  
Matthew blinked, biting his lower lip thoughtfully. “Because it was dangerous and thrilling all the same,” he answered truthfully.  
  
“That is why I am a pirate,” the man replied meeting Matthew’s eyes.  
  
For the first time in a long time, Matthew felt a purpose in his otherwise bleak and worthless existence, even though it was to last but for a moment. He could not bring himself to care about the fate that awaited him. In that moment, all he could wonder about was how grateful he was to have acted on his impulse, stumbled upon the pirate’s ship and met the very man who was looting the people of the town. Warmth prickled under Matthew’s skin as he stared into the unusual grey eyes, flecked with a tinge of green. If he felt alive just by staring into them, then god, how would he feel if he were to spend a day with this man?  
  
“What is going to happen to me now?” Matthew asked quietly.  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Nothing?”  
  
“I am quite certain you wouldn’t tell anyone of my whereabouts,” the pirate said with a satisfied smirk and retreated back to his chair.  
  
“You are awfully sure of yourself,” Matthew snickered. As he stepped closer to the table, a whiff of a familiar scent assaulted his nostrils. He looked around and noticed a small vase of lilacs nestled on the shelf. He gasped, his hand coming up to his mouth as the realization dawned on him.  
  
“It was you!” He exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise.  
  
“Pardon me?”  
  
“It was your diary I found in my bedroom.” Matthew paused before his eyebrows shot up again. “You were sleeping on that bed!”  
  
“I was wondering where I had left that,” the other man grinned. “How very careless of me.”  
  
Matthew huffed, shaking his head in bewilderment. “I should have realised it sooner. You are the man Peter served before he came here.”  
  
“Quite so, but Peter has always been here, serving me whenever I happen to visit this part of the country. This place is more of a refuge, a place for relaxation.”  
  
“You have been living in the manor all this time then?”  
  
“Until you arrived, at least. It was rather sudden, hence why I forgot my diary there. I presume you read the poems then.”  
  
Matthew nodded. “Indeed, they are beautiful,” he said, making no attempt to hide his admiration, which earned him a wide grin from the pirate. They held each other’s gaze in silence, until Matthew realised he had forgotten to ask the pirate the most important question of all. “Your initials, D.J.H., what do they stand for?”  
  
“Dominic James Howard,” the pirate said, bowing before extending his hand out, which Matthew took with a shy laugh.  
  
~  
  
Matthew walked back to the manor with a smug smile that refused to leave his lips. The past hour had seemed to be something from a dream, a distant dream that he had imagined would never come true. And yet, here he was, tingling with the excitement of having met a pirate and somewhat guilty of having enjoyed it rather than reporting it. His smile widened when he knew that this was not to be the first and the last time he would be seeing the pirate, Dominic.  
  
Whilst whispering the name to himself, Matthew all but hurried back to the manor; there were only a few hours left until nightfall. He was to be joined by Dominic for supper, just as the man had promised before he had left the ship. The mere thought of dining with Dominic set his pulse racing.  
  
As he came to the house, he could see Peter standing in the living room, almost as if he was awaiting Matthew’s return. Having discovered Peter’s secret, Matthew no longer felt uneasy about the housekeeper.  
  
“Ah, Peter,” Matthew called out cheerfully. “I had been out walking and it took longer than I expected.”  
  
“I hope you were not lost, sir,” Peter said, keeping his expression indifferent in an attempt to mask his thoughts. “You were gone for quite some time.”  
  
“I wasn’t lost,” Matthew said nonchalantly whilst he settled on the sofa. “I stumbled upon a creek and I wanted to take a closer look.”  
  
“A c-creek, sir?”  
  
Matthew bit his lips, holding back the chuckle that was threatening to escape. He wondered how long he could tease Peter before he told him the truth. “ Oh yes, a creek. I didn’t know it even existed. Makes for an excellent hiding place, does it not?”  
  
Peter, who had managed to maintain a straight face, was beginning to look flustered. “I-I wouldn’t know, sir. I have never ventured into that part of the forest.”  
  
“Oh come now, Peter. Surely, you must have been there,” Matthew paused, narrowing his eyes at the housekeeper, “to meet with your master.”  
  
“How did you—” Peter trailed off looking aghast. But as he regarded Matthew’s mischievous grin, he choked out a relieved laugh. “So you have met at last.”  
  
“At last? You knew we would meet?”  
  
“I had imagined it would happen, although not so soon. As I had said earlier, you have much in common.”  
  
“But what if I was against his… way of life?”  
  
“It was a possibility, sir, but I can see that you are not… at least not like the others.” This time Peter’s expression was unguarded, no longer inscrutable. And Matthew finally felt he could trust him.  
  
“Well, now that everything is out in the open,” Matthew began, “I must tell you, I will be joined by Dominic for supper later tonight.”  
  
“Very well, sir.”  
  
“Make sure the other servants know nothing of this. Prepare the meal yourself, if you must.”  
  
“Of course, sir.”  
  
After he had dismissed Peter, Matthew made his way upstairs to his room, needing to sort his thoughts. He flopped onto his bed with his head resting on the soft pillows and wondered what Dominic was doing that very moment. Whether he was instructing his men around the ship or if he was at his table, pouring over his charts and planning one of his many quests in that quaint cabin of his. Perhaps he was laid on his back, quite like Matthew, thinking about him and their afternoon spent together.  
  
Matthew could feel the heat of a blush creeping upon his face and shook that particular thought away. Having met a man for a few long minutes wasn’t remotely enough to harbour feelings for him. But he could not help but feel strongly for Dominic and he wanted to believe Dominic felt the same.  _Only time will tell,_  Matthew told himself and reached for the diary inside in the drawer.  
  
He spent the rest of the evening leafing through the diary, absorbing every word and getting lost in the world among the pages. Peter had knocked on his door at some point, bringing him tea.  
  
And before he knew it, the sky had turned into a deep shade of pink and darkness fell over the room. With only an hour left until his guest arrived, he found himself standing before the wardrobe and pondering on what to wear since his clothes from the afternoon were mildly soiled and rumpled. He shrugged into a pearl white shirt, pulled on a pair of black trousers and clicked his braces in place. He ran his fingers through his dark, tousled hair, setting them in place before making his way to the living room, where he helped Peter light a fire and a few candles.  
  
The house was silent and candles spread a warm glow throughout the room. Matthew took a deep breath and walked towards the back of the house. The curtains of the window were drawn, so he pulled them back and opened the windows, letting in the night’s breeze and a sliver of moonlight. As he did so, he could see Dominic coming towards him from the woods and into the back garden.  
  
Matthew’s pulse quickened as he awaited his guest.


End file.
